


Fowled Up

by Lyrstzha



Series: Chickenification [4]
Category: Firefly
Genre: Comment Fic, Crack, Flash Fic, Gen, Humor, chickenification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human Jayne might never have managed much in the way of mutiny, but Chicken Jayne seemed to be managing a damn sight better. 'Verse might not have a god, but it sure had a nasty rutting sense of <i>humor</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fowled Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/gifts).



“What I want to know is,” Mal roared loud enough that Jayne would be sure to hear him no matter where the bastard was hiding, “how come when Jayne was a man he never managed nothin’ much in the way of mutiny, but now he’s a chicken, he’s takin’ over my ship?”

“Well,” Wash panted, more than a little worn out from chasing Jayne all over _Serenity_. “You have to admit that he’s much stealthier this way.”

“And I suspect that he has a higher I.Q. as a chicken,” Simon added darkly, brushing futilely at hours’ worth of dust from climbing all over the ship on his shirt. “He was never this cunning as a man-ape.”

“He does seem to have a diabolical cleverness about him these days,” Wash agreed.

“I don’t care if he’s become Mephistopheles hisself! No chicken’s hijacking my boat!” Mal’s yell echoed satisfyingly in the cargo bay, but the only answer was a taunting clucking coming over the comm system. That damn chicken could be _anywhere_.

“It's your own fault, you know,” Wash told Mal, with absolutely no manner of regard for self-preservation. “If you'd just given him his ten percent cut in money instead of acorns – ”

Mal cut Wash off with an indignant squawk, which he was absolutely sure did not sound remotely like a chicken's. “He ain't been any use in the whole job! 'Less you count shootin' out a whole gorram crate of our cargo while tryin' to fire Vera with his beak, which I _don't_. And what's a chicken goin' to do with hard pay, anyhow?”

“Less pay _back_ , I expect,” Simon muttered from Mal's other side. When Mal shifted his glare from Wash to Simon, the doctor shrugged and had the temerity to look uncowed. Really, Mal needed to work on being a damn sight scarier; folk on his boat didn't take his glares with the proper respect anymore at all. “Or, at least,” Simon went on, “he almost certainly wouldn't have eaten actual money and defecated it all over your bunk. For someone who can't spell irony, he has a surprisingly good grasp of how to _do_ it.”

“Exactly,” Wash agreed. “Should've just paid up when he started staring at you with those beady little eyes. Did I not tell you he was up to even less good than usual? Did I not tell you that thing about hell and fury and scorn, but with chickens instead of women? Because I remember definitely making a brilliant pun about a peck of trouble. You shouldn't let my rapier-wit intimidate you so much you don't listen to my obviously sage advice.”

Simon turned his head away, ostensibly peering into a cupboard, but Mal suspected he was just concealing a grin. Wash didn't even bother with that small courtesy.

“'Nough outta you two,” Mal growled. “Ain't no need for jawin' on a chicken hunt. Best you just keep those mouths closed and eyes open.”

Before either of them could go and push any farther, Zoe’s head popped up from a hidey-hole in the floor. “He ain’t in here now,” she said, holding up a feather. “But he was not too long ago. It’s still warm. I’m beginnin’ to think Jayne’s a Reader as well as a chicken.”

And that started an awful suspicion in Mal’s brain. He slanted a look over at Simon, who was already eyeing him back defensively. “Say, Doc,” Mal began, in a deceptively bland tone. “Where’s that sister of yours right now?”

“She’s with Inara on her shuttle,” Simon replied quickly. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Really thinkin' that might not be the case,” Mal countered. “Wouldn't surprise me if they was in cahoots this whole time.” Of course it wouldn't. Because what his boat really needed was a vengeful chicken with an abiding love of all things that shot or exploded plotting with a crazy Reader who'd been trained to kill. 'Verse might not have a god, but it sure had a nasty rutting sense of _humor_.


End file.
